The Choice
by Resevius
Summary: "It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." Albus Dumbledore. A series of oneshots exploring the pivotal choices of some of J. K. Rowling's characters. Each is inspired and based on a Within Temptation song (what a fitting band name!,) but these are not songfics. Next: Peter Pettigrew.


Disclaimer: the characters and premise belong to J. K. Rowling. The cited songs belong to Within Temptation.

Regulus Arcturus Black

Where Is the Edge

June 1979

The pain was unendurable. His skin would surely be burned away. Was this necessary to ensure devotion to a lord he already worshipped? He would die before he even began...

The pressure on his forearm was released as a long, white finger withdrew. Gasping, the dark-haired boy blinked several times in his tenebrous surroundings. He could just make out the Death Eaters, his comrades, standing in awed silence behind their leader. For the briefest of moments, his eyes locked with those of his cousin Bellatrix. Her black orbs gleamed with malicious pride and he felt a twinge of excitement for the same emotion he would see in his mother's eyes later.

And then, he was looking into the face of the Dark Lord, whose red eyes were quite expressionless as they looked back at his newest follower. The youngest Black straightened and watched his master's lipless mouth form a smile.

"Welcome, Regulus Black," he hissed. The sound seemed to cause a ripple in the air around him, so that the black robes of the Death Eaters actually shivered. "You have joined the ranks of those who dedicate themselves to the purification of our world. I expect unwavering loyalty from you, Regulus."

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you, My Lord."

He took his place between Snape and Pettigrew and continued to listen intently as Voldemort spoke of Pureblood right, of power and rule, of loyalty and reward. His left forearm still throbbed and looking down, he gazed upon the skull and snake now branded into his skin. How proud his parents would be. How proud he was. He was going to serve the Dark Lord at last.

July 1980

Kreacher looked especially subservient in the grand kitchen of Grimmauld Place, his posture attentive and eager as he listened to his youngest master.

"Take heed of this honor, Kreacher. Obey the Dark Lord's every word. ... And then come home."

The elf nodded and vanished before his bat-like ears had stopped swaying. With a thoughtful look on his face, Regulus left the kitchen and began the ascent to his bedroom. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he passed the elf heads on the wall. Images of his first year as a Death Eater seemed to leer at him through the darkness: faces twisted with the pain of the Cruciatus curse, a familiar flash of green light, his own cousin's hard face distorted by sadistic mirth. He had always liked Kreacher, but could not refuse when the Dark Lord requested an elf. He could only hope that Kreacher's branch of magic would bring him home as Regulus had ordered.

His misgivings were interrupted when he entered his room. Immediately opposite the door were hung carefully cut newspaper clippings, emblazoned with headlines such as MAGIC OVER MUGGLES: THE BENEFITS of AN OPEN EXISTENCE, and LORD VOLDEMORT's PLAN FOR THE GREATER GOOD. Sitting on his bed, Regulus skimmed the articles that had led him to his destiny. The Dark Lord. It was a privilege to call him that now. He often smirked to himself when he heard whispers of "You-Know-Who" on the streets. Such ignorance, the Dark Lord called it. Such worthless clinging to weakness. But one day, they would all understand the necessity and gift of their wizardry.

His eyes began to droop and he soon gave into sleep. A strange scene penetrated his normally glorious dreams. The Dark Lord stood cloaked in shadow, his head bowed, his shoulders drooped in inexplicable weariness. But when he lifted his gaze to Regulus, his eyes shown like a stunning spell. His mouth opened and his voice penetrated Regulus, making his very soul tremble. "Immortality."

The boy broke eye contact to look down. Faces. Faces assaulted his vision with awful stillness, the eyes vacant, mouths parted in screams that would not be heard. Yet they pulsed with something akin to life, something cold and loveless. Strange flecks of light struck his sight. There were trinkets hidden among the dead. "Immortality." He bent to see more clearly ...

"Master!"

Regulus' dark eyes shot open. Kreacher was back, and Regulus knew instinctively that something was wrong. The elf's eyes were huge and wild, he shook from head to toe.

"Kreacher has done what Master commanded. The Dark Lord is pleased." He tried to hide a tremor.

"What happened, Kreacher?" The urgency in Regulus' voice frightened even he. "Tell me."

Kreacher bit his lip.

"That's an order," said Regulus sharply, resorting to the treatment he rarely used. "Tell me what happened with you and the Dark Lord."

It worked. The elf's tale chilled Regulus the more he listened. When he finished, Regulus closed his eyes as if to shut out the remnants of the dream that still disturbed him. A word was gnawing at the back of his brain. Was it possible? ...

"Does Master Regulus require anything? Can Kreacher help?"

Regulus looked at the slave before him. Troubled dark eye met troubled dark eye.

"No, Kreacher. But listen carefully to me. You are not to share this with anyone else. And you are to stay in this house at all times until I tell you differently. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Regulus."

August 1980

The Muggle was large and well-built. When the dark figures had first entered his home, he had not hesitated in raising a pistol to them, speaking threats in a voice that recognized obedience. But the pistol now glittered in forgotten pieces on his linoleum, and his hands were raised in supplication to his circle of jeering onlookers.

"Please! Please, my daughter... Please, I won't tell—'"

He screamed as a wand slashed through the air and created a gash in his cheek. Scarlet blood seeped through his fingers. He was weeping now, the sound merging with a woman's insane laugh.

"That will do, Bella."

The voice ended all sound like a thunder clap, though it was no louder than lightning. The Dark Lord detached himself from his followers and lowered his hood to look down upon his object of enjoyment. Terror could not begin to describe the look in the man's eyes. His large frame shook violently, he began to plead once more. With a careless wave of his wand, the Dark Lord restored silence. His voice was almost loving this time.

"I believe it is time for one of our newest followers to do the honor. Peter?"

A squat figure took the Dark Lord's place before the powerless Muggle. A wand emerged, directed between the man's round and anguished eyes. And then Pettigrew's quavering voice released the final words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

XXXXXX

Regulus' Apparition onto the front step of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was not smooth. He swayed dangerously and had to grab the ornate door knob for support. Fear and panic were making his head spin horribly. Somehow, he made it into the house, up the stairs, and behind his bedroom door before he stumbled to his knees and dropped his head in his hands. So close! So close he had come to casting that killing curse. This was by no means the first time he had witnessed murder at the hands of those whom he called friends, but it was the first time the Dark Lord had made him think he might be the one to take a life. For the briefest of seconds before he named Pettigrew, those pitiless red eyes had met Regulus'. And it was all the young wizard could do to clear his mind and hide the realization that had just hit him like the curse itself: he couldn't do it.

How had Pettigrew, who was no more than three years older than he, been able to watch as that man's life left his eyes and know he was responsible? How had he laughed along with the others when the Muggle's corpse toppled over like a stringless puppet? How was he not haunted by the image of a woman, possibly a girl, coming home to a battered remain of what had once been her invincible father? That thought made Regulus lurch to his feet and race for the bathroom.

When he'd purged himself as much as possible, he lifted his head to stare at himself in the mirror. His dark eyes were bottomless in his chalk-white face. He looked quite deranged. Fresh panic invaded his mind when he remembered that he was a terrible Occlumens. When the time came for him to prove himself to the Dark Lord, he might manage the spell, but he would not be able to hide his horror. Or his grief. The eyes in the mirror widened even more. Grief! He felt and would feel grief. But for what? The nameless life beneath him? Or the fate of his own soul? With an absentminded hand, he fingered the worn sheet of paper in his pocket. It was a page torn from a thick black book he had found in the Black library weeks ago, the page that confirmed his suspicions about Kreacher's task.

Horcrux: an enchanted object in which a wizard may store a piece of his soul. The object protects the creator from mortal death as long as it is in tact. The protection on such an object must be absolute to ensure difficult destruction.

The information was scarce, but it told Regulus all he needed to know. The month since had passed in doubt and fear. What was all of this murder and destruction truly for? Were he and his fellow Death Eaters honestly working for the greater good? Or were they merely a distraction from the Dark Lord's true mission? And how much longer could he hide his realization from the Dark Lord?

He couldn't.

It was only a matter of days until he was asked to do the impossible. And once he was exposed as one of the weak, it would be mere minutes before his family paid for his stupidity. And who knew how much more powerful the Dark Lord would become from those murders! No, he could not — would not — allow it. He would not be the catalyst for another piece of evil. His family would not suffer for his weakness. It would not be.

A strange kind of calm was settling over him as his body moved on autopilot. He was back in his room and rummaging inside a drawer of his bedside table. He had retrieved the old locket that his mother had given him long ago and was sealing a note within it. He was giving his freshly cleaned bedroom a last cursory glance before closing the door with finality. His legs carried him through Number Twelve while his mind replayed memories on fast forward. No time for second guessing now. He was at Kreacher's cupboard door and the elf looked uneasy, but obeyed when he asked to go to the cave.

The last piece of home he saw was an image of the Black family crest he himself had scratched into the wall of the pantry years ago. Before his mind could register goodbye, he found himself standing with Kreacher in cold, impenetrable darkness. A boat was emerging from the clear water below. Without preamble, elf and master climbed in and Regulus watched as the mysterious green glow came closer and closer. Too soon, they were standing on smooth rock. The viridescence of the basin they had reached forcibly reminded Regulus of the curse that had started this journey and a chill slithered down his back. Now was the moment. He turned to Kreacher and withdrew the locket from his robes.

"When I have drunk this potion," he began, his voice cold and clear as the water beneath them, "you will exchange the locket inside with this one. Then, you will return home and destroy the Dark Lord's."

"Master," Kreacher croaked, but Regulus cut across him, still speaking in flat, unarguable tones.

"You will not tell anybody about this place, this locket, or what has happened to me. Especially not my mother." He paused. "Leave without me, Kreacher. Leave when you have swapped the lockets. Do I have your word?"

Wordlessly, helplessly, Kreacher nodded and took the fake locket. Raising his wand, Regulus summoned a very familiar goblet. It glinted a wicked silver as he dipped it into the basin. Without thought or even a breath, Regulus drained the first goblet of Voldemort's protection.

In his seventeen years, Regulus had known much physical pain. Punishment in his home had promised it, and he would never forget his initiation as a Death Eater. Yet the third goblet of potion brought much, much worse. His mother would never understand. His brother would never know. His cousin would sneer at his memory for the rest of her life. His brain was going to implode with all that he hadn't done, with all he would never do. His chest was being consumed by fire started by fear and regret. But he could reverse the true sins before they were even committed, so he continued to drink.

Some time later, his senses returned. His mouth was very dry, he was dreadfully thirsty. Clumsily, he moved forward, his trembling hands fumbling over the smooth surface of the rock. His hazy brain kept repeating a single thought: where is the edge? Where is the water? His hand slipped and became very cold. So cold that he almost missed the thin fingers closing around his own. Dimly, he heard Kreacher's croaking scream from behind him. He forced himself to look up.

His dream had not lied. He was surrounded by the dead, and his face would soon become just as blank, his body just as lifeless. No, not yet.

With sudden strength, he twisted so he was looking at Kreacher once more. The elf met his eyes with horrified comprehension, but held up the locket in his fist. It looked slightly larger than the one Regulus had brought. He shifted his gaze to the basin and saw that it was full of potion once more. Then, he saw more Inferi advancing on his frozen companion. At the same time, more icy hands encircled his wrists, his waist, his throat. So this was it, then. This was the end. There was only one more thing to do.

"Go home, Kreacher!"

The echo of his voice had barely faded when he saw Kreacher disappear. Seconds later, his senses were cut off again by sharp, freezing water.

Regulus Arcturus Black joined the protectors of a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul at the bottom of the black lake. But underwater was where he stayed, his own soul in tact and at peace.

To the Dark Lord,

I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Author Notes: My good friend Padfoot7411 and I had a discussion about Regulus' age, which inspired me to add my date calculations at the end of each chapter. If you don't care, you can skip these. If you are a time nerd like me, I welcome further discussion/debate. Just know that I only use the original books when researching, no websites/interviews/blogs for me.

Regarding Regulus and Peter's age difference, here is my logic. In OoTP Chapter 6, the Black family tree put Regulus' death at "some fifteen years previous." In DH Chapter 10, Kreacher said that Regulus joined the Death Eaters at sixteen and died a year later. This would have made him 17 or 18 in 1980, when Peter was 20 or 21. So I figure Regulus was born two or three years after the Marauders.

Hope you got something from this. Please review!

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